Broken Promises
by xHouseMDx
Summary: House and Stacy were never the perfect couple. Fights and make up sex. Rated M for smut.


We were never the perfect couple. We fought, more then normal couples should. But I knew, before committing myself to him, that that would be the case. Due to his selfish insensitivity towards others, I was well aware that going into a relationship with him would be troublesome, but it was never this bad before. He never purposely said things that he knew hurt me right at the core, he never ignored me nights upon nights, and he never shoved me away with his arm when I would try to comfort him; until after the surgery. Until after I signed consent that sentenced him to a life of pain.

Tonight was bad. Tonight he went over the top. Tonight he made me cry and cry until my eyes were bloodshot red, until my eyes hurt even when they were closed.

"_You should come to bed." I walked over to him, resting my arm upon his shoulder. It was 3am, he was well tired, but he was working, trying to solve a case which would be nearly impossible to any other doctor who didn't have the mind he had._

_He shrugged his shoulder away from my touch. "I'm not tired." His voice was stone cold, and he didn't break his attention off the papers in front of him._

_He tried to hold back the yawn approaching him, but failed. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his palms and continued starring at the sheet in front of him._

"_Honey, you're tired. Come to bed, you can continue this tomorrow." One of his hands was rubbing his thigh violently, and he closed his eyes. I tugged on his shirt, which caught his attention. He looked up at me, his blue eyes ringed with red, sweat dripping from his forehead._

"_Pass me my vicodin bottle." He demanded. I walked over the piano where his pills sat, and walked past him to the bedroom door, leaning on the frame, holding his vicodin in my hand._

"_Come to bed, and I will."_

_He let out a breath, and turned his attention away from me, starring down at the papers again. His hand shook as he reached for a pen, and I had to look away. When he started shaking, it meant he was about to go over the edge._

_I shook the bottle; the rattling sound of the pills against the bottle caught his attention again. He looked at me, desperation in his eyes. Desperation turned to anger._

"_Very nice, Stacy."_

"_Do you want your pills, or not?" I shook the bottle again, almost as if to tease him though I knew it was wrong. My heart thumped unevenly in my chest._

"_Yes. But it's not worth it. I don't want to come to bed with you." His voice was flat; it held no emotion except for complete animosity. That hurt, I cringed visibly and held back a sob I felt arising in my chest._

"_Fine, suffer." I stuffed the bottle into my pocket, and turned to get into bed when he said, "You'd like that, wouldn't you."_

_I turned around to face him, not sure what expression I was wearing on my face._

"_I don't want you to be in pain, Greg. It's the last thing I want." I walked forward; my knee's shaking, and sat down on a chair beside him._

"_Then give me my vicodin." His breathing was becoming uneven, and he was beginning to sweat through his shirt._

_My eyes felt wet, full of moisture, as I shoved the bottle into his shaking palm. He opened the bottle with a flick of his thumb, and placed two vicodin into his hand, throwing them down his throat._

_I hesitated before saying, "Take it easy, Greg. Don't take too much. You could hurt yourself."_

"_You're right; I think I'll leave it to you to do the hurting." He looked at me with an expression I wasn't familiar with, and focused on the papers again. My heart throbbed, and a single tear rolled down my cheek. He didn't look up when a strangled sob escaped my lips. He didn't care._

"_Is this how it's going to be? Is this how you're going to treat me? You're going to punish me?" I was yelling unintentionally. "You're in pain, I get that, and I'm sorry! I'm sorry I did this to you. I know I deserve to be shot for this, but getting shot would be less painful then getting treated like this by you! I can't take it."_

"_Then leave." He whispered._

"_I don't want to leave you." I was crying now, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face. "I never want to leave you."_

_He closed his eyes, and struggled to stand up, grabbing the cane that rest against the desk. Instinctively I held my arms out to help him, but he flinched away from me._

"_Don't touch me." He breathed._

"_Greg, please don't do this. Not tonight. This week has been hell for me, for the both of us."_

"_Lucky for you, it's only been a week. I'm going to have to live in hell for the rest of my life."_

"_It doesn't have to be that way!"_

"_It does, Stacy!" He faced me, his face livid with anger. "You knew it had to be this way the second you pressed that damn pen to the paper! You knew it would be this way the second you took all the trust I had in you and tossed it out the fucking window!"_

_I was stunned into silence._

"_I'm sorry." Was all I managed to stutter._

_And then he looked at me with an expression that hurt me like a dagger through my chest. "You can't save me, Stacy." His voice was low now, hardly a whisper. "You did this to me, you can't save me. This is who I am, this is who you created. If you can't live with that..." He trailed off, and looked down at the floor._

_My body felt numb. My hands shook almost harder then his. My breath was lost, and I had to hold on to the table for support._

_He slowly limped over to me, putting his fingers against my neck to check my pulse. He removed his hand and lifted my chin with his fingers. I starred into his damaged eyes, threw his hand away and disappeared into the bedroom._

So now I was lying here, gripping the sheets so hard that my knuckles were white. I heard his footsteps down the hall, and closed my eyes, in attempt to make it look like I was sleeping. Obviously he'd know I wasn't; he knew everything about me. I glanced at the clock quickly before closing my eyes. The time read 5:18am.

I heard him drop his cane to the floor and pull of his shirt. I heard him wince as he took three painful steps to get into bed. He delicately laid himself down, and pulled the covers over his body. I could hear his uneven breathing; I could hear the saliva travel down his throat as he swallowed hard. I could even hear his teeth biting down on his bottom lip to keep him from screaming. He took a final deep breath and moved his hand to my back, his fingertips tracing my curves. I shivered at his touch. He shifted closer, gasping as he did so, and his lips met the back of my neck. "Stacy…"He purred, resting his head into the crook of my shoulder. When I didn't respond, he kissed my neck again, and grabbed my hip with his hand, his fingertips digging into my skin. "Stacy, Stacy look at me." He attempted to turn my body around to face him, but I pulled away, feeling a pang of guilt stab at my chest. Rejecting him was hard, too hard. I tried to hold back my sobs, but I failed horribly.

He heard, of course he heard, and with too much force he grabbed my arms and somehow made me flip to face him. He cupped my face with his huge hands, and put his forehead against mine. I could feel his hands trembling against my face.

"You're in pain?" I whispered, opening my eyes to see his face contorted in agony.

"No." He lied.

"You're shaking." I removed his hand from my face and held it in mine. He grabbed onto my hand tightly, his whole body vibrating.

"God, it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad." He gasped, burying his head in the spot just under my neck, just above my breasts. I held him close, and kissed his hair. He inhaled deeply and looked up at me, his eyes full of tears that refused to fall down his face.

The sight made me break down, made my heart almost stop beating, made my vision blur in the slightest. I tried to keep composure but I couldn't. I cried, and he comforted me. I felt pathetic. He needed me. He was the one in pain. He was the one who would be in pain for the rest of his life because of me. And here I was, crying in HIS arms, demanding HIS comfort.

"I'm so sorry, Stacy." He whispered, his arms held onto me tightly, and I had a feeling it wasn't to comfort me, it was because he was in pain and he needed something to hold onto, something to squeeze. He could break my bones if he wanted to; if that would help him at all.

"You have nothing to be sorry about."

He removed his arms from my body and starred at me, shock crossing his features. "How can you say that? Look at what I do to you."

"Look at what I _did_ to you." I reminded him, reminding myself at the same time. Another tear rolled down my face, and he captured it with his thumb. He was still trembling, still shaking, but he was keeping his voice calm, struggling to hide all signs of pain. The shaking gave it away, though.

"I know. And I'll never forgive you for this." He studied my expression before continuing. "But I still love you, nonetheless." He kissed my forehead. "I'll always love you, Stacy."

I half smiled, and threw my arms around him, burying my head in his bare chest. His skin was hot, damp with sweat. I moved my hand to his thigh, and he twitched slightly as I caressed his damaged muscle. I rubbed as skillfully as I could, trying desperately to ease the pain. It seemed to help a little. His breathing was regulating, and he wasn't shaking as much as before. But I still felt his hand tremble slightly against my skin. He turned around abruptly to fetch another pill from the vicodin bottle that rested on the night table. As he tossed the pill down his throat, his head tipped back and his eyes closed, he looked appealing. I rubbed my hands over his chest, digging my nails into his sides and I scratched down his sides to his hips. He let a gasp escape his lips, his eyes remained closed. When he let himself go, when he let pleasure cross his features, when he didn't hold back, it was the sexiest thing I've ever witnessed in my life. And makeup sex, it was always amazing. Sex with him was amazing, period. But the makeup sex, oh God the makeup sex. And the sounds he made, the moans and growls that came from his throat were enough to drive me over the edge.

I moved my lips to his neck, kissing just below the ear, trailing kisses down to his collar bone. He moaned, I shivered.

And then suddenly I was on my back, and his body was wedged between my thighs. His arms were supporting his muscular frame, and his lips crashed down on mine with such intensity I thought my heart was going to break free from my ribcage.

Both our breathing became labored as our hands explored every part of each other, as his lips covered every surface of my skin. He felt so good. Every touch felt electrifying. Everywhere his lips met made my skin burn.

"I want you." I gasped, grabbing his face in my hands. "I want you, so bad."

"You already have me." He growled, moving his lips to suck on my neck. He loved leaving marks. And I loved waking up the next morning, looking in the mirror only to find bite marks and hickies covering my neck. I would laugh as I threw on a turtle neck or a scarf. It made me feel like a teenager again.

He skillfully and quickly removed my pants, taking my underwear with them, and removed his pants as well in under ten seconds. I wondered how many women he must have been to bed with to have this… acquired skill.

I gasped as I felt his erection rub against my bare skin, and placed my hands on his huge back, digging my nails into his skin. "Now." I demanded.

"Your wish is my command."

He thrust in, slowly at first, a low growl escaping his lips. I moaned as his length filled me. I loved the feeling of him inside of me. He was bigger then average, which was always a plus. It only meant he reached my spot easier and quicker than anybody else.

And then he moved quickly, hard, skillfully. He moved in ways a cripple shouldn't be able to move; in ways a _man_shouldn't be able to move. Every thrust took me to ecstasy. Every thrust was a representation of the anger and pain he had built inside of him.

"Oh God, Greg!" I screamed as he pulled out just to penetrate back into me again. His teeth met my shoulder, and he bit down hard, making me yell in pleasure and pain at the same time. I was almost there, and he was too. I could tell by the pleasurable sounds that were escaping from his diaphragm, from the way he moved quicker then before, if that was even possible. And then he stopped, still inside me, still holding me, still breathing quickly. He breathed deeply into my neck, and worry swept over me.

"Greg, are you okay?"

"Yeah." He panted. "My leg."

He shifted his weight onto his left, and began working again. The new angle was even better, for him and for me. It allowed him to reach further; it allowed him even easier access to the spot that would topple me over the edge.

It was close. It was so close. I felt my body become stiff, along with his, and a huge indestructible tidal wave of pleasure washed over my senses, causing me to moan so loudly I was one hundred percent sure the whole neighborhood could hear.

He still kept thrusting, not as hard as before, as his own orgasm took over. I loved to watch him as he climaxed, I loved to see the breath taking expression on his face as he became overwhelmed with pleasure. His lips parted slightly as a moan was released from his mouth. "Stacy." He gasped, "Fuck, Stacy, I'm gonna' cum."

And with a low, rippling growl coming from his chest, his body tensed then relaxed, and he pressed his forehead against mine. We still hadn't caught our breath, so when his lips met mine, it was barely a kiss; it was breathing into each other's mouths.

He removed himself from on top of me, and laid on his back, his eyes still closed, his breathing still heavy. I still felt tiny waves of pleasure course through my veins and I laid there panting, desperately trying to catch my breath as well. His hand was comforting his leg again.

"I-I don't know how you manage to do this to me." I said, my legs still tingling.

He laughed a muffled laugh. "Oh if you only knew the things you do to me."

He retrieved his pill bottle from the night table again. "I'm gonna' need at least ten pills after that." He joked, taking one pill from the bottle.

He winced as he shifted to his side to face me, and pulled me to his chest.

One hand held my waist, the other gently stroked my hair.

"You think I hate you." He whispered.

"Do you?"

"No. Never, that's impossible." He sighed. "Sometimes I wish I could hate you, though. I think it would be better for the both of us."

My breathing hitched as he continued.

"But I'd rather live a life in pain with you, then live pain free without you, if that makes sense. Not that I could live pain free without you anyway. If you ever left I'd experience pain that my leg can't even amount to."

I smiled into his chest, and then tipped my head up so I could reach his lips with mine.

"I'll never leave you." I promised.

But after months of fighting, screaming and crying, I broke my promise, grabbed my things, and took the most painful steps I have ever taken away from him.


End file.
